Her eyelashes flutter, and she crosses her legs slowly. Can she sense that I’m watching?
“Are you always this fun on international flights?” I ask. A playful overtone lacing the words.
She doesn’t move right away, but it’s like a challenge when she fully opens her eyes. “Are you always this annoying at 3 a.m.?” she shoots back, with fire in her eyes and a raspy voice from the half-sleep.
There she is.
I find myself huffing a quiet laugh; the sound vibrating in the small space between us.
“What’s so funny?” she demands, her eyes narrowing as she shifts in her seat.
“Oh, nothing,” I murmur, ice clinking against the glass as I pour another whiskey.“I was just thinking about the look on Sienna’s face earlier. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone leave her that speechless.”
Her expression falters for a split second, her gaze dropping to my mouth before snapping back to my eyes. “I was just playing her game.”
“Playing?” I arch a brow, my voice dropping to a low rumble. “You were marking your territory, and we both know it.”
That gets to her, at least a little. She doesn’t admit it, but she doesn’t deny it, either. She hesitates for a second too long before responding.
“Don’t flatter yourself, Locke,” she whispers, though her pulse is visibly thrumming at the base of her throat. “I just wasn’t about to let a woman like that think she had the upper hand.”
My gaze drops, snagging on the curve of her lips again. I can practically feel the heat coming off her.
“And you think you have it?” I murmur, my voice dropping lower. “The upper hand?”
Before she can answer, I reach for the bottle again, the amber liquid catching the dim cabin lighting as I pour a second glass. I hold it out to her, forcing her to lean into my space to take it. She takes the glass and grabs the bottle with her other hand, placing it on the ledge next to her seat.
I watch her lips part, just a fraction, like she’s caught between a retort and a confession. We lock eyes, and her gaze burns hotter; it almost reminds me of the night we met. For a second, part of me wonders if she’ll close the last few inches between us and straddle me right here.
But she doesn’t.
Instead, those perfect lips close around the glass, and the whiskey disappears in one swift motion. She doesn’t look away. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Locke,” she says, her voice regaining that sharp, untouchable edge.
“Is that a warning?” I murmur, leaning across the aisle until I’m inches from her. “Because I’ve never been one to play it safe.”
She lets out a dry, breathless laugh. “It’s an observation. You like the idea of me. The mystery. But you’d have no idea what to do with the reality once you actually have it.”
“Then give it to me,” I challenge, my voice dropping to a rough rumble that vibrates in my chest. “Let’s find out exactly how much reality I can handle.”
I stand, desperately needing to move, and when I step in her direction, I ensure it’s with intention. I lean over her to reclaim the bottle from the ledge, and the air between us practically sparks.
She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t pull back. Instead, she tilts her chin up, her gaze slowly raking over me with an intensity that makes my blood turn to fire.
“No, Locke,” she whispers, the corner of her mouth twitching into a ghost of a smile. “I think you should go to sleep.”
The words are a dismissal, but the look in her eyes is a dare. It’s a punch straight to the gut. She’s calling my bluff, telling me to back off because she knows exactly how close I am to cracking.
A slow, sharp smile of my own takes shape. Not because I’m happy, but because the gloves are officially off. She knows exactly what she’s doing, and she’s enjoying every second of watching me struggle.
“Fine,” I say, my hand tightening around my glass.
I take a final, heavy pour of whiskey, the scent of her jasmine perfume and the sharp sting of the alcohol blurring into one intoxicating haze.
She closes her eyes, leaning her head back against the seat as if the conversation is over. But the quickened rise and fall of her chest give her away. She isn’t sleeping. She’s waiting.
I drop back into my seat across from her, my heart hammering a frenzied rhythm I can’t control. I know one thing for sure: I won’t be sleeping one goddamn minute of this flight.
I don’t sleep.
